


Dissemble

by orphan_account



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: First Kiss, Halloween 2017, M/M, POV First Person, Sort of secret identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 20:01:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12711954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Brendon doesn't recognize Ryan, and he's not about to let on.





	Dissemble

**Author's Note:**

> Just a small thing I wrote and meant to post over a week ago. Obviously holds no basis in reality.

Halloween is probably my favorite holiday, as it's one of the few where I don't have to drag my ass to my mom's and pretend to enjoy my family's company. With that being the case, I should definitely be having more fun right now.

I’m attending Adam Levine’s annual Halloween party for the fourth year running, but instead of getting shitfaced with my friends, playing dumb games, or perhaps finding a pretty girl to take home, I’m loitering outside feeling rather sorry for myself. I've been too withdrawn lately, I know. Gabe practically had to carry me out of my house and away from Dottie. Even now that I’m here I can't seem to get my bearings, finding more comfort lingering outside, the furthest thing from the life of the party. I’ve been here less than two hours and I already feel suffocated.  
  
I barely get in a drag on my second cigarette when my stolen minutes of solitude are interrupted as a door several feet away bangs open. Light spills over the darkened ground, accompanied by the inane dance music pumping from the speakers inside and the chattering of far too many inebriated people.  
  
The door closes and I lean against the wall, angling myself away from the approaching footsteps and trying to hide my cigarette just in case it's a Lodge employee. More likely it’s some drunk partygoer wanting to take a piss in the pool. I exhale a stream of smoke through my nose and try to relax.  
  
The person who decided to intrude upon my privacy clearly doesn't give two fucks about my utterly closed off body language as they sidle up next to me.  
  
“Mind if I bum a smoke?”  
  
I freeze at that voice and nearly drop my cigarette in surprise, an unpleasant shiver working its way down my spine. I glance to the side sharply.  
  
Brendon. Sweating slightly and wearing a stupid white outfit that makes him look like a fucking Backstreet Boy. I’d hoped he wouldn’t show this year, just like the year before.  
  
As my eyes roam over his face, I can't help from begrudgingly noting that he looks good. _Really_ good. There's a healthy glow about him that I’ve never seen before. I almost ask if he’s expecting.  
  
A burst of ugly resentment mixes nauseatingly with envy in the pit of my stomach, tangling up my insides. I wish him all the best, of course, but it bothers me in some intangible way that he never looked so content when I knew him. A happy marriage and successful career can do wonders for people, I suppose.  
  
I open my mouth and prepare to deliver the least awkward greeting possible, when I finally notice the lack of recognition in his eyes. They’re wide and deceptively earnest, the way they always were when he talked to strangers. There's a polite, but vague smile tugging at his lips.  
  
I’d almost forgotten the thick makeup I’d applied to my face earlier, and the unkempt tangle of my hair. Apparently it’s enough to be unrecognizable even to someone who knew me for years.  
  
Oddly, I find that I don't really want him to know it’s me. It’d be nice to avoid the awkward chitchat we usually exchange when we accidentally bump into each other. Also, he will perpetually be at the top of the list of people I _don't_ want asking me personal questions.

I close my mouth decisively and fumble my pack of smokes from my pocket, not quite meeting his eyes as I proffer it. I notice, with some annoyance, that Brendon already has a cigarette tucked securely behind his ear.  
  
He notices my pointed glance, and shrugs apologetically.

"It's fake, I swear,” he says with a grin, plucking a cigarette gingerly from my pack. “Thanks, man. Uh, do you think you could you give me a light, too?” He tries very hard to look apologetic.  
  
I shove the smokes back into my pocket and attempt to hand him my zippo. Instead of accepting it, he cups his hands around his cigarette and eyes me expectantly.  
  
He’s always been a cheeky fucking bastard. I glare at him, but flip open the lid and flick the wheel several times until the flame bursts to life. I bring it to the tip of the cigarette. My hand barely tremors.  
  
He inhales deeply, our eyes meeting briefly as the cherry glows a brilliant red between us. I look away, snatching my hand back. I feel suddenly hot, skin itchy and too tight beneath my clothes. What is _wrong_ with me?  
  
“Thanks,” he says again, exhaling luxuriously. “I needed this. It's packed in there.” He gestures vaguely towards the door.  
  
I nod, leaning back and taking a shaky drag of my own cigarette. It's not nearly as satisfying anymore.  
  
“Not very talkative, huh?”  
  
I shrug noncommittally, hideously uncomfortable at his prodding. I hope he leaves quickly, before I have a chance to give myself away. This was an awful idea.

Brendon barrels on, completely unperturbed by my lack of verbal responses. “That’s cool. Hey, are you supposed to be that character from Hocus Pocus?’  
  
I nod tersely.  
  
“Nice! Did you do your makeup yourself?”

I nod again, jaw clenched, feeling like a bobbleheaded moron and growing angry because of it.

“Wow. That’s awesome!”

God, doesn’t he ever shut up! A part of me wants to punch his pretty face in just to make him stop talking. He would deserve it for not leaving me the fuck alone when it's clear I have no interest in chatting. A cynical part of me suspects that he’s purposefully doing this because he knows it’s me and is enjoying fucking with my head. Now that really _would_ warrant a punch.  
  
I’m distracted from the confused tangle of my thoughts when he leans close enough that our shoulders almost brush. I sneak a glance at Brendon only to find him already watching me. He raises his eyebrows, clearly bemused by my continued silence.  
  
He’s looking directly into my eyes and I hold my breath, expecting realization to dawn on him any second. It doesn't.

Something that feels a lot like loathing curls sickeningly in my gut. I don’t want him to know it’s me, obviously, but I’m certain if the situation were reversed, I couldn't fail to recognize him.  
  
The sudden flare of anger must be apparent even through the makeup. He sounds sort of annoyed and mostly embarrassed when he says, “Sorry, I was just trying to make conversation. Guess I’ll leave you to it.”  
  
He makes to push off from the wall, and my free hand clenches into a fist. He doesn't get to make off that easily.  
  
Instead of punching him, which seems like a decent enough idea, I lean in impulsively and kiss him. It’s much gentler than I intend, and feels odd through the makeup, but his lips are full and soft, which more than makes up for it. The anger I’m feeling dissipates almost instantly.  
  
He doesn't pull away or shove me, instead his mouth curves into a surprised smile against mine and he kisses me back.  
  
Somehow, in all those years when we lived practically on top of one another, though we occasionally kissed other guys, we never properly kissed each other. It's long overdue.  
  
Our breaths mingle as he deepens the kiss, opening up for me. We both taste of nicotine and beer, and the tip of my tongue briefly touches his lower lip.  
  
I pull away first, breathless, chest tight.  There are smears of makeup on his nose, mouth and chin.  
  
“That was nice,” he whispers, sounding rather pleased.  
  
Then, abruptly, he begins to laugh, deep-throated and full, eyes sparkling with amusement.  
  
“What’s-” I begin to ask, then clamp my mouth shut, horrified at myself.  
  
He either didn’t hear me or didn't recognize my voice over the sound of his own obnoxious laughter.  
  
“Sorry, sorry,” he says, wiping his eyes.”It’s just that I haven't kissed another dude in years! You are a guy, right?”  
  
I nod, feeling shellshocked at his response. I don't see what's so funny about it. My lips still tingle from our kiss.  
  
Brendon shakes his head and runs his hand through his hair, suddenly jittery. He takes a long drag on his cigarette and stubs it out on the ground.  
  
“Well, uh, thanks for the smoke, and the kiss,” He winks at me and departs, still shaking with mirth.  
  
I stand outside staring at absolutely nothing for a time, until my forgotten cigarette burns low to enough to scorch my fingers. A very manly yelp escapes me and I drop it, smashing it into concrete with the toe of my boot. It's then I realize I have no intention of returning to the party. Who knows how long Brendon—no doubt accompanied by his wife and Zack—is going to be here? I can't risk it.  
  
Feeling less guilty than I should, I shoot off a few texts to my friends letting them know that I’m not feeling well and have to head home. I'm very thankful that I insisted on driving myself here.

The world feels off-kilter and hazy on the drive. I’m shivering slightly but also wiping sweat off my brow, smearing my makeup. I try to listen to music, but everything sounds unpleasant and disjointed. I jab the off button and concentrate on the road, cracking my window to let in the cool air.

As I’m beginning to calm, just a little, my mind flashes to the picture Vicky took of us together when I’d first arrived at the party. Fear shoots through me and I grip the steering wheel tighter. She probably posted it to her instagram already, tagging me in it, which means a ton of people will be circulating it. Which means Brendon will quite possibly see it.

I pull into the nearest gas station and park haphazardly, leaving the car running. I cover my face with my hands, groaning in frustration. Why am I always so fucking stupid? What incredible idiocy took hold of me that made kissing him seem like a good idea? I'm a thirty one year old man, and can't seem to stop acting like a goddamned teenager.

It takes a while for the first overwhelming wave of mortification to pass. I take deep, calming breaths, coming back to myself slowly. I wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans, leaving white smudges on the dark fabric.

It's not a big deal, I tell myself defiantly. It was just a dumb, spur of the moment kinda thing. I’d had a couple beers by that point and he’d probably had more. I wonder, only briefly, if Brendon will be angry if he finds out. No, I can't imagine that. It was funny if anything, I reason, recalling his raucous laughter. There's no use beating myself up over nothing.

Feeling marginally better, though still a bit queasy and craving a joint and some bourbon, I pull back onto the road and head for home, determined to think of nothing at all.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this wasn't happier, but angsty Ryan is my jam. :P


End file.
